My Life as I know it
by greeneyedAlice91
Summary: Shilo remembering how she met the rest ofthe ghosts. written at ShiloCoulter's request


**Shilo's Point of View**

I think I've always known about ghosts, spirits, specters or whatever you want to call them. Even from the time I was a baby I had known things I wasn't supposed to. Like I knew Dana, my older half-sister was doomed to live a short and troubled life. Or the fact that there was something odd about how my skin glowed when I was angry. I mean I did cause my nanny to hang herself in one of our closets just by being the 'freak' I was. The first time I really knew there was something otherworldly watching over my mom, my sister, and I was one certain night. Daniel, Dana's father had come home in a rage yet again. I think I was a few months old at the time. Well, anyway, he started berating my mother about how I was the Devil's spawn and I should have been drowned at birth. Then he did something he had yet to do; he hit her. And right as his fist connected with her cheek I heard what sounded like a wooden bat hitting metal, over and over again. That was my introduction to one Royce Clayton.

Royce has always been around, and by always I mean ALWAYS. The reason for this is two-fold; 1. We lived in his old home for a time and 2. He took to protecting us, especially me, when Daniel was around. He was there for everything and for that I am eternally grateful. Royce was, when he was alive, the most popular guy at his high school. He did have one weakness though. He had major temper problems which caused for a lot of fights, which of course him being so popular, he was never in trouble for. And of course living in the 1950's there was one thing the guys did for sport: drag race.

One day, however his temper got the best of him and he, stupidly, challenged one of the best Greasers, a guy by the name of Johnny, to a race. With one last blown kiss to his eager female audience, he hopped in his 'sweetheart' and the race was on. Needless to say, neither racer accounted for the sharp curve a mile up the road or the wet condition of the road. Accelerating and hurtling around the curve, Royce slid and tumbled down the ravine his fellow racer watching in horror. In a burst of flames and torn metal it was all over and Royce Clayton was dead. Now he has the unofficial job of being my family's protector and I couldn't ask for a better one.

The next ghost I had the pleasure of meeting was Susan. She popped up literally out of nowhere. I remember quite clearly, for a one year-old with 'creepy' powers, how one day as Dana was 'fixing' her hair in the bathroom, I saw rather than felt a cold icy mist come up behind her. Then before my young eyes the mist formed into a bound woman in a dirty ragged prom dress! The woman must have known I was staring at her as she turned and looked straight at me. Her expression was one of sweet kindness, similar to that of my mother and I watched, fascinated as she smiled at me. Then she simply finished her 'primping' and dissolved into thin air.

I later learned who she was. She had been Susan LeGrow, daughter of a prominent business man, and filthy rich to boot. Susan could, and did, have her pick of any of the guys at her high school. She dated her fair share of guys but, as Queen Bee of the school she was required to date the high school quarterback, Chet. But Chet had a violent streak as wide and deep as the Mississippi, although he hid it well. Unfortunately for Susan she was going to find out exactly what her boyfriend Chet was really like. On prom night Susan stepped down the stairs of her house for what would be the last time, at least alive. There at the end of the stairs were her parents and a smiling Chet. But something in Chet's dark eyes made Susan wary though she shook it off, intending to enjoy the best night of her life. She enjoyed it alright, in the arms of her true love Billy Bob; until Chet found them that is. Now all that left of the prom queen and her love is her body six feet under and her wandering, restless spirit.

Horace Mahoney…known as The Breaker, a notorious junkyard serial killer to everyone but to me he was and is simply Uncle Horace. I met him when he was alive. My mom took me to his junkyard when I was five and up until that time she really hadn't talked about having other family besides Dana and me. I soon found out why. Uncle Horace turned out to be a 7 foot tall giant of a man who hid/worked in the junkyard because he was horribly disfigured. Of course I didn't know, at the time, about his bloody 'hobby', I simply liked spending time with him learning about cars and, surprisingly, killing. He taught me all I know about both topics. Later, after the police had "taken the monster down" as they said, I finally learned the truth about why they called him The Breaker. Of course the fact that I still thought of him as my Uncle Horace just proved I was a very strange child.

I think the oddest, and yet fitting, place I've ever met a ghost would have to be in an old ghost town we once went to on a 'family' vacation. I was probably about 10 or so and Dana and I had been just exploring the once booming town when I heard what I thought to be just re-enactors. The sound of a child's pain-filled howl is what made me realize it wasn't re-enactors. The sound died off by the time we found the spot where it had come from. The place was at the edge of the town, a grassy field perfect for re-living battles and small skirmishes.

Then as we looked around the deserted field the _twang_ of an arrow being released from a bow rang through the air. Soon, like clockwork, the howl we heard earlier tore through the silence. There, standing near us was the transparent from of a young boy in normal clothes, except for the bloody arrow sticking out of his head. Eerily, as if he could tell we were watching him, he turned his gaze to us and smiled that child-like smile, much like my own at the time. "Hi, I'm Billy Michaels. Wanna play?" He asked before flickering out. I still see Billy on occasion, though as I've gotten older the less I see him. And still the first question out of his mouth is "Wanna play?'

We never stayed in one place for long, which is how I met George Markley, former blacksmith and another one of my self-appointed protectors. We were in this small town in Georgia when I first heard of George. I was perusing the local museum when a set of old photos caught my eye. The photos were of that town back in the 1890's. Beside the weathered pictures an article's headline screamed 'Blacksmith Nailed after Rampaging through Town' and underneath the words was one solitary shot. This shot was my first glimpse of George Markley but at the time I didn't know that. It was a picture of a brawny dark man tied to a tree stump, rusty spikes driven into him, oozing blood. But the most disturbing part of the tableau was that his left hand was missing, and in its place was a blacksmith's hammer. As I read the rest of the story, my blue eyes filled with tears of pain and rage at just what humans would stoop to in order to bring down who they thought was a bad person.

I was so upset about this injustice that I didn't feel the presence until it was right next to me. "No need to cry little one, they got theirs, I assure you." As calmly as I could manage, I turned and found myself face to face with the ghost of George Markley himself. Any 'normal' person would have run screaming but I just launched myself into his strong arms and wept for his fate. I didn't mind the nails or the fact he lacked a hand, I just knew he was someone who would keep me safe at all cost, a kindred spirit, forgive the pun. Then, through my tears I heard it, that old half-forgotten lullaby….this time sung by deep gravelly voice instead of mine or my mother's lilting soprano.

_Round we go  
>the world is spinning<br>When it stops  
>it's just beginning<em>

Shocked I joined in on the next verse, my high mesmerizing voice even lulling me into a trance.

_Sun comes up  
>we live and we cry<br>sun goes down  
>and then we all die<em>

As soon as the song was finished, I unwound myself from George's strong grasp and smiled to him briefly as he melted away, off to only he knew where. George was probably one of the sweetest ghosts I'd ever met but Jean Kriticos took the cake. She was a mother and wife taken too early from her family in a house fire. I found her quite easy, at St. Luke's hospital. My mother was there because she had 'fallen down the stairs' yet again and i was bored just sitting in the waiting room. So, being the young adventurous kid I was, I wandered around various floors in the hospital. While stopping at the doors to the Burn Unit I heard the sound of soft broken weeping.

I followed the sound and found a man and his two children crying over a gurney that held a sheet-covered body. At first glance I didn't notice the figure of a woman standing near the grieving family but the flash of red I saw when she bent down to whisper words of comfort in her husband's ear made me turn my head. There stood a pretty woman, half of her face burned, in a standard hospital gown with a IV pole off to one side. Quietly I slipped away, feeling bad about intruding on such a private moment, when I felt a cold grip on my wrist. I looked behind me to see the woman, her face a mask of sorrow. "It's alright sweetheart you can stay for a little while. I'm, or I was Jean Kriticos." Awed that she let me stay, I let her guide me to the nearest chair as she returned to her family. I didn't stay long after that but it was nice to meet such a caring, sweet person as Jean.

Not long after that I met two of the most unusual ghosts I've ever come across. Harold and Margaret Shelburne were, in life, circus freaks. Margaret was a 3 foot tall woman who was raped by The Tall Man, the result of which was Harold, a behemoth child-like man who was doted upon by his mother. Hey met their fate on fine day when some of the other performers took Margaret as a joke. Enraged Harold chased after them only to find his mother had already been killed. He then grabbed an axe and chopped up the offenders, selling tickets to the gruesome sideshow. Harold was killed by an angry mob sometime later now he and his mother haunt traveling carnivals. Isabella was another ghost of unusual nature. Convicted of witchcraft and hung in stocks she died a long painful death. She doesn't say much but she is a silent comfort to a girl such as I.

The last ghost I met, at least recently was one by the fitting name of Jimmy Gambino. Jimmy a.k.a THE Gambler, was as the name suggests, a gambler. Not to say he was a bad guy or anything, because he wasn't. He just had bad luck. On another 'family' vacation to Atlantic City is where I met him, or rather pieces of him. I had been sitting out by the waterfront enjoying the cool breeze coming off the water when I thought I saw a piece of plastic down near the shore. Intrigued I went to see just what it was. Turns out it was more of a whom than a what. There lying on the shoreline was the faint outline of a body part wrapped in…cellophane? Which of course made me begin to hum the song 'Mr. Cellophane' from the musical Chicago. As if drawn by my humming, other wrapped parts appeared next to the first. The last one to come was the head. And though I couldn't make out the features that well, I could tell this ghost was a man. The head began to tossed and thrash in its wrapping and mumble a bit.

At first I couldn't make out what he was saying but upon leaning a bit closer I learned he was telling me who he had been and why he had met such an unusual demise. After talking with Jimmy for a few more minutes I noticed it was beginning to grow dark. Bidding the ex-gambler/fish bait goodbye I headed back to the hotel. Since seeing Jimmy I haven't seen any new ghosts yet but the ones I have met pop up now and then, George of instance likes to drop in to check on me and Susan and Royce have become my permanent bodyguards, of sorts. It's funny how things turn out sometimes.


End file.
